A Yankee in Professor Dumbledore's Court
by Pynrieg
Summary: Is Hogwarts and the Wizarding world ready for a muggle fighter entering the growing conflict? An American Muggle will try to find out if he's capable of dealing with Hogwarts and the realities of a lifetime of fighting. Alternate 6th year story. Canon compliant. May be M later on for language and themes.
1. Late Summer, July '96

Prologue Part 1

"I don't like being forced into hiring this guy, " whined the hooded figure at the table for four. One empty seat was there, the other three people were seated already.

"If we had an option, we would take it. But…" the tallest figure trailed off. He shared the same beliefs, but the resignation in his voice made it clear that this was not the first time they've argued.

"Quiet, he's approaching…." The third and final person stated. She had made it clear that this bickering would stop until the meeting was done.

The three represented the Department of Mysteries Trouble Shooting Squad. The department acted as a think tank of sorts, were the deeper mysteries of magic were explored and cataloged by Wizarding Britain. Most of the time, it required a scholar and expert weeks of research into whatever was going on, and then fixed, isolated, or explored further the underlying magics.

The Trouble Shooting Squad was not that group. Some events needed some magic muscle to fight, usually a dark wizard or witch with delusions (or not) of grandeur before they brought in the brains of the Department. Usually they would work alone, although it was a very liquid group without a clear structure or really rules in place. The only real directive they had was to find trouble, and shoot it.

The man heading to their table was average height, he didn't stand out because of that. His hair was a dark brown, peppered with grey around the temples. Crow's feet around the eyes showed perhaps a middle age, but with a wizard that could mean late 20s to early 60s. He had a beard that was was a richer brown then his hair, with some red tinge to it, again peppered with grey. He was exactly unremarkable, he didn't have a scar running across his face, tattoos on his neck or hands, or bulging musculture that made him look like he was a bodybuilder.

He pulled the last chair left for him, and sat down.

The only woman of the group spoke up, "I hope the journey wasn't problematic…"

"No, found the place just fine, thank you. I hear you need some help with…. Something. My contact couldn't give much more information than that." He didn't have a English accent, but at the highest levels of Trouble Shooters, that wasn't uncommon. Few survived the magics they encountered, and most who did weren't always the soundest of mind after. It wasn't uncommon to search for international help for the odder jobs.

The tallest wizard pulled his wand, and waved it like he was trying to hit a fly that was just in front of him as he cast a privacy charm. The air turned sour as the magic took effect.

"Yes…. we do. Each of us has gone after a Level Blue target, and we can't remember what happened. That's… troubling, but we can't continue pursuing it without knowing more." The woman explained. She looked bothered, as there was something that wasn't quite right with the situation, but she was trying to place it as she spoke.

"Any intel on what it is?" The fourth person asked.

The man who hadn't cast the privacy charm took charge of the conversation at this point. "We know it's a wizard. We suspect he was a member of the most recent dark lord's inner council, possibly Dolohiv. We found some evidence of some serious soul magic and demonic rituals in a drop house in Knockturn. I was the first who went after him, the other two didn't remember even that much. "

"So you suspect you encountered him, and he left you all alive?"

The tallest wizard snapped in, "This isn't political. We know our own political beliefs vary, but this target wasn't playing safe with his friends…."

"Good to know he's fair, I suppose."

The woman glared at the other two of her group. "Our political... obligations are not the point here."

"Why do you think he left you all alive then?"

She didn't really have an answer to that. "That remains to be seen. We were hoping once we captured him alive, we could…"

"Wait, you want him alive?"

"Yes." The woman looked like she was ready for some push back from the stranger of the group, but none came. Something that someone use to what they assumed would be the case changing halfway through a briefing. A professional.

The wizard who remembered the most spoke up after the little exchange. "One of his rituals we uncovered… it's really horrible magic at work. His drophouse might be under study now, but the only thing really clear is that he can have any number of them already set up."

"Doesn't he have to be there activate the ritual." The stranger stressed the word activate. The three other members shared a look between them.

"How many rituals have you encountered? Surely the Americas aren't that backwards… " The woman snapped. Something was just at the edge of her thoughts, looking to put together the information in front of her.

"I couldn't tell you. Never studied there." The stranger said with some mirth in his eyes and the hint of a smile playing.

The tallest wizard could see the trap coming, but really wasn't in the mood to play any games. "Our…. mutual friend ensured us we could hire you to do this job. Were we... "he struggled for the right nuance, " misled?"

The smile disappeared. "No, I can capture this wizard. I am here, after all."

The group of magic users noted the man's eyes and surety of voice. The woman heard it enough in her long life. Dumbledore had it in his when asked to do something impossible. Grindelwald, too, for the few jobs he did for the department while a younger man. So had Xenolophilus, she noted.

"Give me everything else you know about this one…."

* * *

There really wasn't much, in terms of concrete information. A few things here, a few there, nothing the magicals could use to track the individual they needed. He understood the need, he's had quite a few bag jobs, but not quite so many with this lack of information about the target.

The target. He thought about the phrase in his head. That's been 6 year old girls, 75 year old operatives, scholars, brutes, even kings, he's seen them all. His shrink would say that the dissociation technique kept the moral ambiguity of his line of work at bay. Not far enough to be able to sleep well, but enough that he was still able to do what he did, but at least he understood it had to be done by someone. And goddamn if his job wasn't fun at times.

The psych profile they gave him was common enough. Loner, funded, creative, questionable morals. He really didn't understand the magically portions on the same level the wand wavers did. Something about rituals and conduits. He wasn't really all that interested in the magic. The job was to curry favor with this Department of Mysteries, and the Department of Magic, and get an inside view for the Prime Minister. Apparently quite a few strings were pulled, favors called. The actual Prime Minister, not this "Minister of Magic", wanted answers, damnit! That last one made him smirk with some irony.

The man was in a hotel room now. Some middle of the road 3 star place. Nice room, lots of families, lots of business middle management types. No one asked him what he had thought about it.

Order. Chaos. Those with one side, striving for the other. The PM wanted information. Thought he had power. And he did. John didn't come cheap. He was rare, even among the Special Forces community. You could hire a mercenary for ten thousand for some random bag job. You could double that price and get some real bad ass with a gun, someone who could fight a war and look great on a TV shirt, throwing a one liner here and there and end up with a girl at the end of the job.

No, John was different. He was dangerous on a whole different level. He's seen entire different worlds in his life. The military was a whole different world then what people thought, but not weird. This magic community was another separate one. There was a world of people that lived on a floating island in China, and he meet people that were 6 inches tall in the Brazilian rainforest in their world, not to mention the entire space faring community. No, John was part of the "weird shit squad". The only other person John met that was also in his line of work called it the "X files of the X files". John called himself a "Null". Something the universe designed to be immune to weird shit, so when weird shit happened, he showed up.

And that power was invaluable. Except for, he thought coldly, the people who bought his unique skill set. This job was in the seven million range, depending on which currency you used. That provided him a support team. He was rich already, and could retire and live comfortably for the rest of his life. But he stopped caring about the money a long time ago. He retired for a few months after some real trouble he dealt with, but a fire burned inside of him. Once you walked on Orion and see C beams scatter across the stars, sitting at home and waiting for the end to come seemed…. underwhelming. He jumped into action at the first opportunity once someone offered him a direction.

* * *

A knocking came from the fourth floor window. Before the second knock, there was already a gun in John's hand as he prepared himself in a practiced stance. The crescent moon outside silhouetted a robed figure. Since he wasn't currently under attack, he visibly relaxed as he approached the window. Gun still trained at the figure, of course.

As he opened the portal way, he recognized the voice form earlier in the day. "May I enter?"

"Why are you here?"

"Curiosity." Honest. Useless answer, but honest.

"Get in."

"So you are a muggle," she stated as John closed the window and pulled the curtains close. He's heard the term before, but the sneer of superiority behind it even more often. He holstered the gun that was in his grip as he turned around.

"Why not use the door like a normal person? Do all wizards do things as reckless as possible?"

A slight pause. "I do not expect you to understand… Now since I know the truth, I need to have a talk with Tobias about what an appropriate reference is…"

John recognized this dance now. It's happened often enough with new clients. Someone thought him underqualified. This should at least be funny in hindsight, if not a pain in the ass now.

" _Obliviate,_ " she said with a small flick and parry. A misty green beam shot and hit John dead on center mass.

Even before the spell hit, " _Memento-us_ " followed, with another green beam, this one flopping end over end as it slide into John. "You will tell no one of this, muggle, and forget the magical world..."

This was the easiest way, John thought as she trailed off. He had to fight the urge to dodge the colored lights as they headed towards him. Both the basic human urge to avoid quickly moving things heading your direction, and the higher thinking portions of his brain which told him to avoid these things. "Sorry, I thought you were done with the memory stuff," as he stepped closer to her.

" _Oblivate."_ She hit at him again with the spell. This one he dodged with a step closer to her.

"No no. Stop that." He closed the distance to her again, which was perhaps a step away now. As he did, a red spell came and hit him between his eyes.

With an aggressive pull, he threw an elbow up deflecting her wand arm away. He extended his forearm to drag push her wand arm away from himself and freely expose her back and use the motion to pivot around her, throwing his other free arm around her neck as he threw his legs around her waist. The shift of center of balance caused her to lose the balance she had.

He wasn't quite prepared for her to jump into the backwards motion. It changed the gentle felling into an outright slam. The elbows she threw into his side weren't gentle, either, but he had locked his arm around her neck and now it was just sinking the choke as the blood running to her brain slowed and her eyes lost their focus.

He knew the elbows he had taken would bruise, but what else was new... John thought with dark humor

* * *

A/n: Prologue Part One

I had this idea mulling for a while, and wanted to throw this up while I had the muse. Please let me know what you think about the story so far. I have a outline of major events planned out, and something if I get good feedback with may explore further!


	2. Late Summer, July '96 pt 2

A/N: I hate exposition! As I build out this story, you may notice chapters changing as I find places to drop information. Or not, if this is read in the future. Remember, all art is static and cannot change over time.

Also, I am fueled by validation. I know, it's a personality flaw. But if you want to see more, just let me know in the form of reviews.

* * *

John had let the assumed witch wake up in her own time. He found her wand and left it on the hotel room's desk across the room.

A low moan escaped the woman, the kind you hear after a long night of drinking and the coming headache upon the dawn's arrival.

He couldn't avoid kicking the bed, just to jump her awake all the faster. She rolled to her side in a jerk, and then stopped.

"UGh…"

"Yeah, don't try to move too fast." John said without any malice. A gentle bit of advice from knowing how it feels to move in haste after being choked out.

She didn't say anything for a few beats of time. She was processing what had happened. She arched her back, stretching, not quite relaxing in the bed she found herself in.

"I thought you were a pretender. Forgive me, we've been… misled before." She said as she hung her head in being bested in the combat they just had. "Not by a muggle, mind you…"

"Muggle? Is that similar to a Nomag?"

"Ahh, yes. Same thing. I am confused by something, if I may ask…."

"Of course. I may not answer, but I am technically contracting out from you, so…"

"How proper. In that case, I don't see any warding around you? Are the Unspeakables in your country using some other method to protect you?"

"Something like that."

"I see."

John smirked. She didn't believe him for a second, he could see. He walked over to the desk, which had a mug of coffee steaming for him.

She got up from the bed. She opened the shades to the hotel room, gazing eastwards. The tendrils of light of the coming dawn barely started stretching across the sky.

"I do not like this, if I must be honest. The contact for you we used left out some important details that I think we should of known."

"Yeah, they only get the mission results, I doubt he actually knows anything more then that. It tends to work out better that way."

"I can see why." She said as she cradled her neck in her off hand as she reached out her free hand towards her wand on the desk. "If people knew we hired a muggle, we'd be the laughing stock of the Department!"

The wand jostled, but didn't fly into her hand like she was expecting. She jumped as someone knocked on the hotel door with two quick loud taps.

John walked to the door, and said to her, "I'm expecting breakfast,"

Refusing to be be without a wand as someone opened a door, she stretched her magic and summoned her wand again, this time zipping into her hand.

John opened the door, and picked up the tray, the room service cart already moving on. He sat it on the table, making no move to eat. He did pick up his coffee, though.

"I have some info about who we're looking for." John had uplinked the photos he had been given, sent to Alice to be analyzed. She sent back her findings within an hour. "There was a ring imprint we made out on what you had called the 'Karkaroff Incident."

"That bloodbath? What did you find?" She recalled finding that mess of flesh and gristle. It was the most recent one they discovered.

"A ring imprint." He said with indifference.

"Rings aren't that uncommon, but might held narrow down the suspects. Especially if it's something uncommon." She explained, hopefully for a edge on the suspect.

Her blood ran cold when she heard the next response. She didn't really want to deal with this mess, she decided. This was going to get worse much sooner than it would get better, she thought with a shudder shaking her to her core. There was dark magic, but then there was this.

John didn't notice her reaction. "I think it's not common, but might also not be unique. We pulled an inscription. What do you know of "The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black?"

* * *

She ended up telling John the background, the two brothers, one older, last seen going through the death portal. The younger missing for twenty years, presumed dead. She explained the House Rings being tied to the head of the house, and being old magics older than the government itself.

She also explained the history of the house. Black was well regarded as the forefront of 'Dark' knowledge. Even where they got the name from their magical leanings. There were family magics that they knew no one else would be able to unravel.

John was suspicious, this sounded like a set up for an obvious fall guy. But he found the wand waving community, being so entrenched in weird stuff, didn't really develop any sense of subtly that he was use to. At the end of the day, life is all relative.

So, between the one that has not been seen for 20 years by anyone, or the one active until a month ago, only known escapee from a secure prison, many close encounters with the police elements and the counter movement they were fighting. And dying in mysterious circumstances contested by the head of the international and the national government and no one locally wanted to deal with.

Either way, John thought, it was one of the two. And the odds would be so overwhelming for the one, if he gambled, John would place money on Regulus just to play the odds.

* * *

John's support teams had access to satellites, maps, libraries no one else could, but most often just acted like an ordering service. Most of the jobs they had to do their boss would be uniquely suited for. But he needed things like ammunition, guns, clothes, hard cash, and other incidentals.

Alice was not the only one, she knew, but she worked alone. She saw her boss once, when he saved her from some alien kidnapping attack, but outside of that the only contact she really had from him was from the beeper she kept on her person at all times. It was all code names, numbers, and odd requests for the last 4 years.

A dark computer monitor listed lines of green code, the last one being "NAME/ADDRESS FOUND". She sent the details to John after turning off the beeping sound. She prepared another pot of coffee, waiting for the next request

* * *

The northern French coast was pitch black. The clouds were dark grey, only lit up by the occasional snap of silent lightning. The air was heavy with potential rain, and on the coast there stood a single small cottage a stone's throw away from the coastal cliff. The wind blew the garden leaves vigorously.

Albus Dumbledore kept a small cottage to escape from his daily demands. Not far enough away from either Paris, where his ICW demands on his time called him, or from Hogwarts, where he actively liked working for the newest up and coming wizards and witches, to be an issue getting to either location within an hour.

There was a study, a bedroom, and a small kitchen. The cauldron was dusty with misuse, the only real use Albus had was for a glass of Firebrandy while working on his duties, rather it be a new Conferencry Wizard trying to push some new legislation that everyone else knew would die quietly in committee, or filling a vacated Defense Against the Dark Arts and the Muggle Studies professor for his students.

He was sitting as his desk, papers and scrolls piled higher then seemed stable. On top, quills were busy circling and signing before the paper would blow away into another pile on the small table in the middle of the room. Albus himself had his favorite glass on one side of him, carefully placed to stop the open window from blowing away the parchment he was currently reviewing. It was half full with an amber and blue liquid that seemed to be smoking violently in the glass.

He had a bookcase he could view from a small mirror placed on his desk. It too was dusty with age, although some were free from dust and were pulled frequently. One was the perfect size to stop his favorite robe rack from wobbling as Fawkes perched on top of the tallest structure it could inside the small residence.

The Phoenix let out a small trill of birdsong. It was melodious, playful, and had a bit of aggressive notes. Albus looked up as his lifelong familiar, and smiled at him with a wink as he enjoyed the small break from the papers in front of him. He took his drink, burning his whiskers and lips with the hard sip of the liquid. He sat back at the small reprieve of the most dreaded in all of Merlin's Creation, paperwork.

From the bookcase, on the lowest of shelf, a small device started coming to life. It was bronze, with dimples covering the entire surface and what appeared to be water leaking out of it. The glass enclosure it was in had a layer of dust start to fall away as it shook as the device started to spin and hit the side of the now aquarium. The knocking made Albus take notice of the noise of metal hitting glass coming from the shelf.

He stood up from the desk, took the few steps it took to get to the shelf and squatted so he could see what was going on.

Albus produced his wand, and poked the glass bottle now full of clear liquid. He could see the device spinning wildly inside, floating on top of the surface. After three pokes, the elderly wizard sat for a second, and poked it once more. With that last one, the device visibly slowed. Then it had stopped in the center, wobbling slightly with the small waves inside the glass.

"Fawkes, ready yourself." Albus took the steps back to his desk, and shot back the remaining of the firewhiskey in one motion. "Things best left buried are being misused. Now we're off.."

With a pivot, the wizard had disappeared into himself, the *POP* of apparation filling the now empty space.

* * *

John had chased the wizard through a street in London. It was mid morning, traffic still jamming the streets. The man in black robes had jumped through a window to the street below, flinging spells at John as he fell.

John of course followed the target through the same way out. It wasn't hard to follow him. Although fast, the other man wasn't prepared to be chased through the street, wildly shooting red, green, and blue spells trying to create a distraction.

John had the Unspeakeables throw some anti movement wards around the address he found. He knew wizards and witches could move in magical ways, so had to shut that down before moving in on him. That took two hours, which is time John did not want to give up.

The moment he was in a straight line with the man, John had pulled his firearm into his hand, and shot once into the target. He saw him stagger, and then stumble to his knees before a person that was hit with some spell charged John mindlessly, breaking the line of sight. Three shots into the right knee dropped the woman, yet she still was crawling towards John as he lept over her, down the street with people now running in all directions as the gunshots broke the quiet of the city street.

From behind him, John noted a woman in a checked jacket outlined in caution yellow and a cap start blowing into a whistle. He ignored that, instead choosing to chase the man to the point he saw him stagger, and noted some blood on the cement, with a trail going behind a corner bakery or coffee shop. The blood had slowed, to where it gushed earlier, now was a small drip.

John thought that could mean two things, three really. One was there wasn't any blood left, but since the body was gone, that was out. The other was the target had some first aid ready, which was possible. The third was that the target had healed from the wound, which John has seen among some creatures before, thinking about hunting werewolves in Alberta early in his career.

A honk from a taxi in front of him broke the small moment of history. John sprinted to see what had happened. The front door was open, with no one in the front compartment. In the back sat a figure with a mangy head of hair, who went from leaning back in the seat to leaning over the front seat of the cab, laying on the horn.

"Get back here fucking muggle!"

The wizard had seemed entirely focused on having the taxi driver back. If only he had jumped in the front seat instead, he might of driven out of the wards preventing him from fleeing. John had his gun trained on the target's head, knowing not much will survive having grey matter exposed to air. Instead of jumping to the front of the car, John taken to standing behind the C pillar, the rear blind spot of the taxi. It would be hard to hit something you can't see, the reasoning it was favored for assassinations John learned, and if the target wanted to get a good look they presented a excellent easy shot of the most important vitals.

The man screamed himself hoarse realizing no one would drive him off. He simply laid back at in the seat, muttering to himself things John couldn't hear. At that point John had shot the nearest tire, letting the man inside know someone was waiting for him. The man inside the cab didn't jump with the gun's discharge, John noted, which spoke to either a lot of combat experience, or some sort of insanity. He did however begin to rant again, as he magicked the door off the hinge as he jumped out to finally face John head on.

The man's robes were a dirty dark gray, faded, and his bread was heavy with grey, like his hair. Altogether, his looked like someone who had been kept outside of normal life somewhere hidden, surviving but no really much else. If he was closer, John could swear he smelt as good as he looked, which is to say a lot like shit.

Yeah, John's thoughts went to mostly crazy in terms of the psych profile. That was dangerous to John, you could never really guess what they were going to do. John noted the man had starting twirling his wand between his fingertips while sizing up his opponent.

John wasn't going to let the man gain the advantage, if possible. Since he was still aiming down his sights, he lowered his barrel to the midsection of the other man and let two bullets fly. Even before they hit, John knew something was _wrong_. His opponent didn't jump back, or shout, or verbalize a sound. He did hear two hi pitched * _PINGs*,_ like metal ricocheting off metal. Armor, John thought, as the reason why his bullets didn't affect the man standing opposite him.

This action, however, did trigger the other man into action. He set one beam of green light directly at John, not bothering to watch the spell weather away into the aether. He also pointed his wand into the ground below John, and it split open with a growl. As the ground started to open up, he had to jump back from the opening. Quickness was the name of the game now, and distance was death.

While the ground continued to do whatever the wizard had done to it, John wasn't sitting back. The armor the man magicked made his normal firearm useless, so he had nothing left besides hands on. He covered the three or four yards to the other man, and tackled him to the ground, causing the crazed wizard lose his wand as he let out an * _OUMPH*._

While hitting the black top, John had made sure to throw his shoulder into the solar plexus of his target. Most men would struggle to breath with the hit for a few minutes. This wizard didn't seem to flex with the hit. Damn. That didn't stop him from mounting the now prone man, letting his hips balance on top of the other man, riding on top of his hips as he tried to scamper away, making the man carry the weight of another person to try to tire this target. The man underneath had turned away, so his belly was now on the road surface. He was reaching for his wand, which could be seen rolling from under the taxi towards its owner.

John didn't miss this outstretched hand, and took a cold iron knife he kept squirreled away on his person. He brought it down with as mighty a strike he could manage, impaling the man's hand to the black road. The target howled with the wound, but pulled his hand towards his person. Someone watching screamed as this point, John noted, as the man ripped his hand further to hold it to his chest.

The wound had split the man's hand into a bloody mess, now made up of two half palms, each with two fingers. It moved unnaturally as if his fingers had now had more knuckles then before. It was a nasty wound that the man seemed all too unconcerned with.

There was a small _*POP*_ in the air John heard. But more pressing was the man now bucking wildly, almost too strong for a man his size, John thought.

"Get off that man!" a feminine voice shouted as aggressively as she could.

"Freeze!" came a baritone masculine voice.

If John wasn't on top of the man, he would of laughed at his luck. However since he was, he again raised his hand, this time to try to knock the man under him unconscious with a vicious blow to the back of the head.

Strike. The hit made the knuckles on John's hand burn.

Strike. Again, but the knuckles already started to numb, the man underneath now had both hands trying to protect his head from the blows.

Strike. This one didn't really connect to the skull, but the man underneath him started to slow his movements, not really knowing how to protect himself from such an aggressive attack. A few more and he'd be out.

* _ZZZzzzZZTTTTT*_ John's body seized and he lost his composure. He lost the ability to control his body and felt himself go rigid. The man underneath wasn't in good shape, but also wasn't out yet completely.

The hired gun hadn't counted on the British having Tasers at this point. He knew very few had firearms, and assumed his Unspeakable friends would be playing interference for the worst of it. Maybe they were, and this was just some street cops in the middle of things they knew nothing about.

The male officer had come behind John, and placed a metal cuff around one of his wrists. As he felt his arm forced behind him, a boot came hard to his side, forcing John to wince in pain and turn away. He felt himself pulled off the other man and dragged away from the taxi as the officer tried separating the two individuals.

John knew what was going to happen. The lull in the fight would let his target regain some composure and grab his wand, and run off again. If John wasn't quick, more people would die needlessly in whatever was going on.

A new voice entered the conversation. Something different from the authority of the officers, or the crazed desperation of the target.

"Officers, my name is Albus Dumbledore, here are my papers, I will be taking over this training exercise now." The twinkle in the man's eyes looked at the scene before him and marveled.

* * *

A/N Part 2:

So some more action. Again, remember, validation. Review, wink wink...

I don't what if you like this writing style or not. Let me know if there's anything you don't like, or things to improve upon.

Thanks.

-Rich C


	3. Late Summer, July '96 pt 3

A/N: Hello all, thank you for checking this out and getting this far. I am having a lot of fun writing, more than I thought I would. That being said, there are a lot of authors out there as well. One thing that I hate reading and takes me out of any writing are really flat characters, or much more often really flat systems in place. I like gritty, broken realism as much as I can get.

Let me know what you're enjoying, or even if you are enjoying this. Please read and review!

* * *

Albus Dumbledore did not envy the newspaper editors in the morning. It was just before morning tea when he arrived at the old hiding hole of Gellert Grindelwald. Back in Albus' childhood, the young dark lord had used the apartment when visiting the city. He remembered long days spent there, pondering and hoping the next scroll would lead them to another clue for the Hollows. They were boys, powerful boys, but just boys playing at becoming legends. After that dream soured, and he brought Gellert down, Albus did his best to hide whatever involvement he could to save his image. That included warding this small apartment in the middle of London.

He warding warned him once a degree of magic surpassed a small threshold. A lumos charm might not do it, but throwing a Crucio or killing curse in the spot would definitely trigger the warning. It had been years since Albus thought about the place itself, despite thinking of the young man everyday of his long life.

On this spot, on the last day of July, Albus hoped that he could quietly forget about this place once more. However, finding a Wizarding Head of House, long since thought dead, made sure investigators of all types were asking questions. And the Department of Magical Mysteries had their own fingers in the mix, cloaking their operative the moment they could and whisking him away for a debriefing, Albus was sure.

So far, no one knew what Regulus Black would say, he had been beyond reasoning when initially confronted. There were dark magics clouding his mind, layer upon layer of compulsions and curse in place. St Mungo's would not have really wanted to touch the man, except for the name saving him. The Black family had funded many hands, and those hands were hungry to get answers to what had happened and what was going to happen next.

It was now afternoon tea, and despite Albus not really needing much food, he was a creature of habit and his stomach grumbled at missing his lunch. Normally he enjoyed a crustless sandwich of peanut butter, banana, and olives with a glass of milk, but today he had taken a handful of extra biscuits with his tea instead, causing the bureaucrat he was dealing with to raise an eyebrow at the improperity of the old man.

Albus pulled his name and status to get some records that he shouldn't have as a lay person. He wasn't really operating in an official capacity, but as the first wizard on the scene he had some stake in the developments he leaned on.

St Mungo's initial report had listed many dark spells, and listed the effects of more that had no certain cause. The most worrying was the Dark Mark, and the taint of Tom Riddle's direct magic at play. This was going to get buried, both by Black family retainers, and the Ministry. The young head of house was nearly comatose, and the mind healers were not making much progress. The recommendation from the lead doctor was to send him to the long term ward and only waited for the Minister to sign off to expedite the process.

Albus was pretty certain he could stop the more private of questions from being asked, but needed the operative the Department had used to question and get his story. The Department of Mysteries had ownership of the entire police aspect of the operation, and the Aurors were not happy with their toes being stepped on. The Obliviators, however, loved the overtime they were collecting, but they had already went through the crowds and muggle police that were involved.

Leaving the office he was in, Albus knew the department he needed to be in. He had been a young man, once, craving some validation and adventure, and had dreams of finding a hidden secret that would help him find the Hallows. It ended up being the sunset of the honeymoon he had with Gellert, although they did succeed in tracking the Elder Wand further.

He didn't bother knocking on the untitled door. No one would be in the office. There were 4 desks inside the office, three with lights and folders on them. Each one had signs of use, the last one with a simple green mat covering it, with a note sitting on it reading

 _*Job Available. Must have Wand, Will Travel*._

Albus took a parchment that was flying between the desks lazily avoiding it's destination, and wrote a message for the desk's owner. It was simple, leaving a destination and a time. Dumbledore crossed off the first time he just wrote, and instead set a later time for her, since his stomach again decided to grumble. He signed it, and left to try to find something sweet that would settle his stomach.

* * *

The sun had set in Diagon Alley. There were already several owls seeking Albus, and while he could shoo them away, he also knew he would have to tell a story eventually. The Daily Prophet's Rita Skeeter was especially after answers for what had happened involving the long lost scion of the Black family, only to have him denied to her thanks to St Mungo's.

"Flatterer…" She had said when she gracefully glided over to the table. On her plate was a caged rat, while Albus had a plate of liver and onions served over a few slices of bread. Albus wasn't denying the accusation.

"It has been a long time, Ms. Carpenter."

"Ms Carpenter?. Albie, have you forgotten who I am?"

"No, I know. " He mentioned to the rat waiting for her. "I am just an old man use to being the oldest one in the neighborhood."

"What do you want?" She asked without malice, taking the rat from the cage and biting into the back of the creature.

"The location was not supposed to of been found. By anyone. I need to understand how the young Mr Black had found himself there." He didn't want to admit to her that he needed the operative they had used.

"I've seen the magics and rituals 'Young Mr Black' used. There's no returning from that." She said. Life seemed to radiate in her face after ingesting the blood of the rat.

"I know." Albus remembered a different man turning away from the darkness.

"Do you?" Her hood had fallen, and her blonde locks and glaring blue eyes were piercing.

"I know. It's already been done, he's in the system." Albus remembered, this time a man who didn't return from the darkness and locked in a prison of his own making.

"You sound like you regret it." Her pale skin nearly glistened in the soft evening light.

"Regulus was a quiet young man when at school. He wasn't as outgoing as his brother, but he had a quiet reserve and dignity about him. I see that boy still."

"That nostalgia would kill you, if you let it." She had raised her hood back up, hiding her pristine features.

"Perhaps. It's a price I am willing to pay. On a related matter, I would like to speak to the man you used to capture him." He asked his old boss. "I am calling in that favor you owe me. "

"Hmmmm….. I still think I would of been fine….. Fine, have it your way. But this means we are even. I want you to say it this time."

"That life debt is paid in full after you put me in contact with the wizard you used."

"I need you not to use the term "wizard"," the woman asked.

"Consider it done," He said with a twinkle in his eyes, seeing some mystery at play,

"Albus," her voice cut through the stray thoughts Albus had at uncovering the mystery at his fingertips.

"Put me in contact with the individual, and that's it, we're done with this debt business."

She reached into her robe, and pulled out a piece of card stock."Here's his business number."

"Business number?" Albus asked.

"For a muggle telephone." She exaggerated the unfamiliar word telephone.

"I've used one before Ms Carpenter…" He's heard of them, but it was maybe 20 years since he last used one. And that was only to test if the muggle minister could send his children to Hogwarts and still have a direct line of communication with them.

"Have a good rest of your life, Albus. Goodbye."

* * *

Alice was watching a recorded episode of FRIENDS. Her computer was rendering some passcode or another for an upcoming operation into the Olympic committee, Brazil had put into a few million to get access to the internet database and it was a quick way to get some cash. Few private companies had the horsepower necessary to crack it.

There were pizza boxes everywhere, she ordered the same thing everyday, medium with extra cheese, mushroom, and onions and a 2 liter of Diet Coke. It would keep her fed, and it was a comfort food. Every couple of months, she would move the company site to another address, but she kept ordering the same meal everyday.

The company phone rang. Most people have moved to electronic communication, but there were always a few sticklers who thought the electronic mails could be tracked and preferred hearing the person on the other line.

She answered it, "Operations,"

The man on the other line sounded like he was grizzled as they come, so she couldn't hear everything clearly as she wrote it down.

What she did hear was _Wizard, Black, International Head,_ and _Hogwash._

Alice knew the odder stuff her boss had dealt with, so didn't really blink an eye at anything. Odds are it was all code anyway, but her boss would know more than she did. She explained that she would pass a message along the chain. She felt compelled to tell the voice on the phone more so than she normally would, with a wave of warmth and joy at adding in some small bits about his most recent whereabouts, before forgetting that she added that little extra bit.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore found himself called to deal with the entire Black situation. The ICW had wanted to name a Speaker for the vacant position and the bickering caused the day to day operation of the panel to stop until the point of order was fixed.

Alastor Moody did not enjoy being pulled away from his normal patrol. The Order of the Phoenix was an motley crew of individuals, and while some like Dumbledore could handle himself, most were too quick to jump into the fight, or were a little too obvious in their dealings. While they had wanted to stand against the darkness, Moody also wanted most to survive the dawn as well. No one wanted to have a target on their back in a war.

Albus had left instructions to have this hunter or whatever he was to contact Dumbledore and sort some things out. He was expecting some dark creature, maybe a vampire or something that had managed to regain a soul and fighting the good fight, or even perhaps a dark wizard trying to infiltrate the ranks. Time would tell.

The number on the business card wasn't a direct line to the man Moody had wanted to contact. It was to some secretary, and even then she didn't know nearly as much most do. This man had kept her distanced on purpose, which spoke to some professionalism. At least Moody could grudgingly admit that someone else seemed to value compartmentalization and was playing by rules that seemed to get everyone just enough info to do their jobs without bogging down the operation.

Of course, she was as clean as a whistle, trying to make the world a better place. Naive, perhaps, but skilled and driven. But the lack of direct communication had been something Moody had done in the past, it made it hard to track someone if you couldn't talk to them, and even scrying had not really gotten him any closer.

That being said, the woman had mentioned placing an order for some "training gear" to be delivered to an address. Moody was currently there, staking out the gym at the address. It was muggle, some place where a few times a day people would mill in and out, all of them looking thick necked and some with cauliflower ear. Moody knew fighters, and knew muggle fighting could be brutal against each other.

Moody had tried boxing a few times when in Auror training, they brought in a pugilist from the States, had him show how to throw a few punches against some poor sod. The guy tried to pull his wand at the end of the demonstration, but in the time it took him to take the wand out, the boxer had already threw four punches, causing the man to gush blood from the nose before falling down out cold.

He never really used the skills, magic being what it was, but Moody had to respect the ability of someone who could never really be disarmed in the same way a wizard without their wand was. But it was a poor wizard who lost his wand, and Alastor was not one to be surprised by some punches.

He had went into the gym itself a few times, there was a counter with some water jugs, a few flyers for some boxing matches, but he hadn't identified his target yet. No one had really stood out, no one set off the runic arrays Alastor had placed to warn him of magic entering the building's threshold. He thought about going to another address, but this job Albus needed to have done as quickly as possible.

The other places the woman had mentioned had even more people, grocery stores and malls, hotels, so many people running in and out, even relatively muggle areas would be awash with magic. This was the best place to find the man he needed. He had charmed a quill and pad to draw the men most likely to be his target and left it alone while he had to deal with some other Order business he could not drop or leave to someone else like Tonks.

It was afternoon, nearly evening when Moody had made it back to his perching spot. The gym had just opened up for the night, doors opened to try and capture the evening breeze. There was already three people inside, shaking hands and telling stories, they were jumping up and down on some foam pads that covered the floor, obviously a new addition to the floor plan of the small gym space.

Moody had taken a look at the sketches of the people, most of them Moody had already pegged for police officers, or muggle mediwitches, or various similar types. As he was thinking, he noted the shortest of the three men talking had launched the tallest, and now was sitting on top of the other man. Despite being a few stone heavier and as fit as you could look, the man on the bottom couldn't escape.

One of the Weasley's toy ears were already wired, and curiosity got the better of the old auror.

"Bridge!"

"Stand Up, Tanner!"

And now the man on top shifted his weight, and isolated the arm of the man on the bottom. It was obvious that he could destroy the arm without much effort.

"Now, let's say you don't land the lock… and they try to stiff you…" the man had released the lock, and had the man who was on the bottom position differently. Moody noted, this man had an American accent.

The American had mentioned something, trying to teach. Whatever the partner did, though, he ended up in a choke, or some other lock, and the third man had entirely been trying to coach a way out of the position. After a few minutes, the other man had laughed, and clapped the American on the back in a half hug.

"Oh man, thanks for the mats again. I can't wait to get some Judo bums in here and working out!"

"Don't mention it," the man smiled good naturally, "although if you call them bums, they might just rip your arm off!"

This made the other two man laugh all the more. It wasn't really malice, just friendly ribbing. Moody heard it in bars often enough.

The gears were already turning. Moody thought: American; bought supplies for a gym. He was looking for an American, who's secretary had supplied him with training gear. This was the target.

Moody didn't want to jump into action like a fresh out of the academy Auror. However, Moody did enjoy having the direction he needed finally.

* * *

John had needed a place to work out, it was that simple. The fact the owners were two down on their luck guys, trying to keep their gym open in a city that was turning away from gyms, turning to fad diets and marathons instead of the gym down the street wasn't at all what drove John to do what he did. He got enough mats to cover a classroom, and really in theory good mats could be used in many martial arts.

He had joked around with the two owners, but couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. He knew it was likely, given his line of work, but it still unnerved him. He showed the pair of gym owners some throws he favored, but after a good workout and a place to roll, John knew he wouldn't really see these people again. He hoped they could make use of the gift, he knew a space like they were gifted could bring new life to a struggling location.

After Max, the boxer, had tested John with his raw strength, John felt a good knot in his back release. There was a lot of tension, and although a masseuse could work out the stress, John found the best and quickest way he could was through a good fight. He hated how naked he felt even now without his gun, let alone under just a towel so some stranger could do whatever they wanted without John having access to any of his tools.

The roll with Max had lasted 40 minutes, and they parted on good terms on promises to enjoy a drink next time John was in town. He took a few good punches on his back, but dealt with the stronger opponent quite well, all things considered. The shiner under his eye had come from falling off the matt while wrapping up the boxer's arm in a flying triangle, rather than anything from the boxer's arsenal directly.

He had to leave his firearm at the hotel, he didn't know the gym owners well enough for them not to call the cops if they saw it. The gym space was only a few dozen yards from his hotel, and he had a direct line of sight to his lobby if he needed to make a run for it.

As he made his way back to his hotel, he noticed there was pigeon watching him from a rooftop. John thought the lights of the city may make some birds extend their hours, but before he had another thought, all he saw was blankness as he felt his ability to move restrained, like he was in a bag of some sort.

John said to himself, "Fuck me..."

* * *

A/N:Wanted to get what I had so far out there. I ended up erasing a good third of this chapter in the rewrite, it just kept dragging with exposition and all that. Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading so far.


End file.
